Interlude: Lines Lost In Translation
by slythatheart
Summary: A tiny ficlet in the No Strings verse, set approximately nine months after Entanglements, a few weeks before Sebastian's graduation. The boys are still together, but Dave is only briefly mentioned in this one.


**Notes: **This ficlet was inspired by a combination of a line from the next No Strings fic and a tumblr post mentioning the difference in meaning between 'coup de foudre' (love at first sight) and 'coup de foutre' (cum shot). I'd link to it, but FFnet doesn't allow that. Translations at the bottom. Huge thanks to spookybibi for translating the necessary parts into French for me. Enjoy!

* * *

**Interlude: Lines Lost in Translation**

"I'm sure I needn't remind you that your poems are due today. Each of you should have two written copies for me; une en français, une en anglais. Please hand them to me now. "

Sebastian looked over his poem one last time. He wasn't too worried; they already had their final grades and he was fluent in French, after all. He was leaps and bounds ahead of the rest of the class. When Ms. Laurent approached his desk, he handed her his work.

"Merci."

When she had everyone's work, she placed the stack on her desk and smiled at the class again. Sebastian glanced around, taking in the more nervous faces around him. He wondered what they had written about; nothing too interesting, he suspected, since they knew they had to read their poems to the class.

"As you know, you will need to recite your work aloud, en français bien sûr," Ms. Laurent told them. "I will be grading your work based on the accuracy of your translations, la grammaire et l'orthographe of your French written work, and your prononciation et articulation. You will not be marked down if you read from an additional copy, nor do I expect you to be the next Charles Baudelaire. This is an exercise in your ability to write and speak français, not on your skills as poètes émergents."

For that, Sebastian was grateful. Poetry didn't really interest him despite the fact that he wasn't half bad at it, but he'd struggled to find inspiration. Originally he began something romantic then decided he wasn't quite willing to bare his soul to a dozen of his classmates. He had tentative plans to finish it later and give it to Dave, maybe on his next birthday. Then he'd even gotten halfway into what he believed to be an excellent ode to his boyfriend's _everything_ before he set it aside in favor of something he could recite to the class without getting turned on. Eventually he'd settled on something less personal and wrote about living in Paris.

"Now, who's first?" She looked down at the papers and gestured at one of Sebastian's classmates. "Monsieur Barrett, please begin with a brief description of your poem and what inspired you."

"En français?"

"Français ou anglais convient pour commencer."

Owen stood and cleared his throat, looking down at the sheet of paper on his desk. "Well, since French is often considered the language of love, I thought I'd write something romantic. My parents loved each other from the day they first met, so I was inspired by that. I call this 'coup de foutre'."

_Oh shit._

Sebastian choked on a laugh, trying his hardest to hold it in. He looked around the room, but no one was reacting except the teacher. Her eyes were wide, and she was clearly biting her tongue. Her eye caught Sebastian's, and she gave him a tiny shake of her head in warning.

"Dès que nos yeux se croisent," Owen recited, "je suis frappé. Coup de foutre."

A sharp bark of laughter escaped Sebastian, and he stifled it, shoving a knuckle between his teeth and biting down.

Owen glared at him, looking flustered. "I know it seems dumb, but can we just be adults?"

Sebastian would have felt guilty, if he wasn't trying so hard not to laugh until he cried. "Oh, don't worry," he answered with a tone of forced sincerity, "it's very adult, I promise."

"So, can I finish?"

_Oh dear god._ He was either going to let the tears of hilarity roll down his cheeks, or pee himself from laughing too hard by the end of the poem, he just knew it. He was still trying not to laugh, somewhat unsuccessfully, because…well…_finish_.

"Well, it's kind of _implied_."

Ms. Laurent shot Sebastian a dark look, and he did his best to look apologetic while he calmed his breathing and smothered his amusement.

Owen eyed him suspiciously, but eventually continued. "Mon coeur bat la chamade, ma respiration s'arrête. Coup de foutre_._"

_No. _Someone had to be messing with him, because the poem was just too perfect. He was laughing loudly, wiping tears from his eyes before Owen was finished reading the second line. He just couldn't help himself. He _couldn't_.

"Monsieur Smythe, _s'il vous plaît_," Ms. Laurent glared at him, but it just wasn't enough to make the situation any less funny. Besides, graduation was only a few weeks away; Sebastian could pretty much do whatever he wanted. "Monsier Barrett…"

"Look, I get it," Owen ignored their teacher in favor of snapping at Sebastian. "You think love is stupid."

"On the contrary, love is wonderful. L'amour est merveilleux," Sebastian said breathlessly, trying and failing to settle down. "But to borrow a quote from one of the greatest love films of all time… 'You keep using that word. I do not think it means what _you_ think it means.'"

"What are you talking about?" Owen frowned.

Sebastian smirked. He couldn't help himself. "Well, I'd offer to show you, but I'm in a happy and committed relationship."

"_Monsieur Smythe_!" Judging by the horror in his teacher's voice, Sebastian had pushed a little too far.

"Oui, mademoiselle?" he asked as innocently as he could manage. She clearly wasn't fooled.

"Je vois bien que tout ceci vous amuse beaucoup mais je crois que vous avez besoin de prendre un moment pour vous ressaisir, _hors de ma classe_."

"Bien sûr, mademoiselle." Sebastian gathered his belongings, trying to muster up some repentance, but it just wasn't there. He glanced at the rest of the class, who were clearly confused. When he looked at Owen again he felt more laughter trying to bubble its way out of him. _Coup de foutre_, indeed.

"Be prepared to present your poem when you return," she told him sharply. "And you will have a detention with me after class for inappropriate behavior."

He should stop, really he should. But Sebastian was past the point where he could hold his tongue. "To be fair, mademoiselle, I wasn't the one reciting a poem entitled '_coup de foutre'_—"

"_Dehors._"

As he left, he heard, "I don't get it, mademoiselle – 'coup de foutre' means love at first sight."

"Your pronunciation is a little…off," she answered. "You mean 'coup de foudre'."

"Then what am I saying?"

Sebastian lingered just outside the door, wanting to catch her reply.

"Nothing you need to know for this or any other class."

He snickered as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He had to tell Dave he'd be a little late this afternoon – and that he had one hell of a funny story to share.

* * *

**Translations:**

une en français, une en anglais (one in French, and one in English)

Merci. (Thank you.)

en français bien sûr (in French of course)

la grammaire et l'orthographe (the spelling and grammar)

prononciation et articulation (pronunciation and articulation)

français (French)

poètes émergents (budding poets)

monsieur (Mr.)

En français? (In French?)

Français ou anglais convient pour commencer. (French or English will be fine to begin.)

coup de foutre (cum shot)

Dès que nos yeux se croisent, je suis frappe. Coup de foutre. (From the moment our eyes meet, I am struck. Cum shot.)

Mon coeur bat la chamade, ma respiration s'arrête. Coup de foutre_._ (My heart pounds, my breath catches. Cum shot.)

Monsieur Smythe, _s'il vous plait. (_Mr. Smythe, _please_.)

L'amour est merveilleux. (Love is wonderful.)

Oui, mademoiselle? (Yes, Miss?)

Je vois bien que tout ceci vous amuse beaucoup mais je crois que vous avez besoin de prendre un moment pour vous ressaisir, _hors de ma classe_. (I realize this is very amusing for you, but I think you need to take a few moments to collect yourself, _outside my classroom_.)

Bien sûr, mademoiselle. (Of course, Miss.)

_Dehors. (Out.)_


End file.
